The Potions Mistress
by Dark Lady of the Circus
Summary: Nineteen years after the Battle of Hogwarts, a qualified potions brewer finally returns to the castle. She has a few unresolved issues with Snape, who's portrait happens to be hanging in her chambers.


A/N: I can't get this idea out of my head. So I'm gonna post the first chapter. Inspiration for my phic has flown out of my head for now, so you're just gonna have to wait for that one.

* * *

Leigh

April 19, 2016

I love Potions. Everything about it fascinates me. The bubbling cauldrons, the exactness of preparing the ingredients, the intricate Arithmancy required to create a perfect potion. Everything.

And you know the thing about Potions that I love the most? I love passing that knowledge on to the next generation of Potions Masters. That is my passion.

Did you believe that pile of bull? I hope not. Professor McGonagall did, though. Oh, wait, I can call her Minerva now. Minerva did, though. Well, she is getting on in years, and plans to retire at the end of this school year. Hiring me was one of her last major actions as Headmistress. I wonder who will take her post next year?

Ah, well, it doesn't matter. I have my job, even though the contract says that I don't start teaching until next September. That means that I won't actually get to teach under the formidable McGonagall. I suppose I shall have to chat with her portrait sometime, if the new HBIC allows it.

You know, I do love Potions. That part was all true. It's the 'passing the knowledge on' bits that were lies. And I don't mean that I want to hog all the Potions knowledge for myself. I just don't really want to 'pass the knowledge on' to eleven year olds who explode cauldrons for the fun of it.

In truth, I took the post for far different reasons. I took the post because Hogwarts needs a Potions Master (or Mistress). Having one on staff's far cheaper than having an apprentice teaching the lower classes and sending the upper classes to a Master (because some of those Masters have such high-and-mighty attitudes that they refuse to come to the class, the class must come to them). And while the potions that the infirmary needs are fairly basic and apprentice-level, the sheer quantities needed (because those Hogwarts kids are always up to _something_) can be incredibly intimidating to an apprentice. So having a Potions Master (or Mistress) on the premises is just common sense, and the money saved by having one teacher to teach all the classes, and a not-stuck-up teacher at that, will show up in my pay check.

Slughorn retired pretty soon after the Battle of Hogwarts ("Too much excitement for my old bones, too much excitement, indeed…") and Minerva has been getting along for almost twenty years contracting out the NEWT classes, but I think it's time for a change. A fully qualified Potions brewer is returning to the castle.

More than that, a Slytherin is returning to the castle. After Snape 'did a bunk,' the Carrows got jailed (thankfully) and Sluggy retired, there has not been one Slytherin on staff. Personally, I think that there should _always_ be at least one graduate of each house on staff (I think the Baron has been acting as Slytherin's head of house lately—now _that's_ terrifying). And I think there should always be a Slytherin teaching Potions.

Even though I'm the most unlikely Slytherin ever, I was sorted into that House, I did survive my seven years, and I'm now a fully qualified Potions Mistress. I wonder what Potter's kids will think of me? Potter himself didn't know me at all—I graduated when he was in his fourth year—though he never actively searched for friendships with Slytherins. I can't imagine why not.

I was really upset to hear about Professor Snape. Does calling teachers by their first name now that I am one work in retrospect? Well, if Professor Snape—I mean _Severus_—comes out of his grave and strangles me, I suppose we'll have the answer. I know everyone paints Severus in a bad light, calling him a greasy old git, a traitor, whatevs. Honestly, I think it all comes down to looks. If he'd been sexy, his life wouldn't have been half as hard. He might even have won Lily in the end, and maybe never joined the Death Eaters. I can sort of imagine Severus—if he'd been sexy—looking like Jared Leto from 30 Seconds to Mars. But I'm sure you haven't heard of them—they're an old-school American Muggle band. I probably shouldn't know who they are, either. Slytherin and all that.

But I _am_ the world's most unlikely Slytherin. I can still remember what the hat said to me, all those years ago…

* * *

September 1, 1987

"Kolodziejczak, Leigh." The formidable witch who had just introduced herself as Professor McGonagall had a voice that was crisp and even, and didn't struggle at all over the pronunciation of my name. Funny, most people did. I walked over to the stool, and placed the hat on my head. Soon, my entire world was ancient black fabric.

"_Hmm…_" said the hat. "_Looks like you've got a bit of everything in you. You're smart enough to hold your own with Ravenclaw…you could fight your way through Gryffindor…if you put your mind to it, you could be devious enough for Slytherin…Hufflepuff'll take anybody…what's your blood status?_"

'_Half-breed,_' I thought back.

"_Hmm…_" says the hat again. "_And American too…are you up for a bit of a challenge, girl?_"

'_Absolutely._'

"_Well, then…SLYTHERIN!_"

The other Slytherins cheered. None of them knew me yet, so they thought that I was just like them. I did look the part, though. Pale skin, long dark hair, my favorite color's green. Little did they know that I was one of the furthest things from a pureblood high society witch that any of these twerps had ever seen.

I didn't talk much at dinner. I didn't want the scenes to start until after we were back in our dormitory. Because I knew there would be scenes. I did not belong in this House. But I had signed up for this. I had volunteered. Complaining now would be self-defeating and idiotic, at best.

My technique of keeping a low profile served me well through dinner. It was back in the room that I shared with the other Slytherin first-year girls that the fireworks began. Our trunks had appeared at the foot of immensely comfortable-looking four-poster beds, and I was unpacking a little of my stuff and organizing it when one of my new compatriots spoke.

"Let's get something straight right now," a pompous voice said. I turned to see which of my four roommates had spoken. It was the redheaded one. It was clear that this girl's family had the habit of marrying into prettiness, and, as a result, their offspring had an overbred look. The redheaded girl was _too _pretty. Her emerald-green eyes—a perfect match for the hangings of their four-posters—were _too_ wide-spaced, her face _too_ white, her cheekbones _too_ prominent. Her manner _far_ too arrogant. "I am pureblood. My family's bloodline can be traced back to Merlin himself. In the hundred generations my family has existed, we have not produced _one_ Squib. This puts me, in status, far above all of you. I expect to be treated with the respect my position deserves."

"And what if we disagree?" I asked, feeling for my wand, then abandoning it. I didn't know any spells. I would have much more of a chance of success if I just launched myself across the room and socked her right in her prim little button nose. I was not what my friends at home would have called a hippie, but I was for equality. At least more equality than this overbred porcelain doll was offering.

Her prim little button nose wrinkled. "What's wrong with your voice?"

I knew she was referring to my American (or Southern, if she actually knew anything _about_ America) accent, so I laid it on as thick as I could for my reply. "What's wrong with your face?"

Our other three roommates were staying well out of the fray, eyes darting back and forth between her and me as if they were watching a tennis match. Perhaps they were the smart ones. Getting into a fight on the first day of term was hardly productive to my long-term success at Hogwarts.

Her face reddened, and her eyebrows compressed. "You_ will_ use a tone of respect when you address me!" she screeched.

I tipped my head to the side, as if examining a particularly intriguing Bonsai tree. I had realized that the best strategy to combat her was to appear unruffled. This girl obviously thrived on conflict, and I was determined not to give her what she wanted. And, if I appeared calm, it would give me the element of surprise when I backhanded her across the face. "Who are you, anyway?"

She shook her hair back over her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air. "Chassity Selwyn. I have the purest lineage of anyone in the castle, and, thus, the most magical talent."

She did not ask my name. I introduced myself anyway. "Hello, Chassity Selwyn. I'm Leigh Kolodziejczak. I'm a mutt from about a million different nationalities, and my mother was a Muggle. I bet I could take you."

She went for her wand, and I launched myself across the room. The back of my hand—with my mother's bulky high-school graduation ring—connected soundly with Chassity's perfectly-shaped jaw, leaving an angry red welt. My two roommates watched in mute horror.

Wait. Two? I thought there had been three.

A hand with a vicelike grip of iron closed over a large hank of my hair. I would have squealed in pain and wriggled to get free, but I saw that Chassity was being subjected to the same treatment. She was wriggling and squealing, and it looked incredibly feeble. I stood mute, going for the "strong and silent" vibe.

This was the first time I met Professor Snape.

My other roommate had gone to fetch him, as he was our Head of House and in charge when there was something out-of-control happening in the dormitory, when the scene appeared to be getting serious. I hoped that he had seen her go for her wand. I didn't really care if I got punished, as long as she got her fair share.

Professor Snape dragged us to his office—still by our hair—without speaking. He merely let off silent waves of malevolence, which was enough to keep even Chassity quiet. Our journey, despite the pain in my scalp, gave me time to look at the man who would rule my life for the next seven years.

Light and dark were the first impressions I got. His robes were black and billowed behind him majestically. His hair was also black, and hung loose in curtains, blending with his robes. His face was pale, almost white, and his eyes were two onyxes in the middle, glinting with fury.

I noticed that Slytherins, as a whole, tend to be pale. Perhaps we spend too much time in our common room, where any sunlight has to come through the lake first, so, by the time it reaches us, it's not true sunlight at all. That doesn't explain Chassity or me, though. Maybe the same genes that make you devious and cunning also make you pale. I resolved to ask someone about that, if I made it through my first night alive.

We reached Professor Snape's office—which is down in the dungeons, just like our common room—and the door opened with a bang when Professor Snape glared at it. He threw Chassity and I unceremoniously into two chairs, and stalked around to the other side of his desk. He sat at it, glaring. Tears rolled down Chassity's cheeks. She had been pampered her whole life, completely unused to any rough handling at all, much less being dragged around the dungeons of a medieval castle by her hair.

The silence stretched.

"Well?" Professor Snape finally asked, anger dripping from every pore. "I am waiting for an explanation of these _deplorable_ events."

I replied first, my features schooled into neutrality. "We had some philosophical differences."

"Ah," said Professor Snape, clearly not buying my excuse. Why I was making an excuse for Chassity, I had no clue, but there it was. "Miss…"

"Kolodziejczak." The name isn't nearly so intimidating when it's prononunced: ko-jay-jack. It's only intimidating when it's written.

"Miss Kolodziejczak, your…disagreements…were clearly on rather…passionate…subjects." His ebony eyes flicked to the welt on Chassity's jaw. There was a tiny cut in the middle of the red strip, and a single drop of blood hung from the end of her chin.

"Yes, Professor." Still neutral.

"Would you care to enlighten me, Miss Selwyn?"

I tried not to seethe inside. He knew _her_ name. Of course. Professor Snape was head of Slytherin House. This meant that he would have _been_ a Slytherin. This meant that he hobnobbed with all the Pureblood high society. My hopes of getting fair punishment dwindled and died.

"_She_," Chassity loaded the syllable with all the contempt she could manage—which was quite considerable, I must give her that credit—"this _half-blood American_,was questioning the superiority of my family. She said that she could 'take me.'"

The air quotes were quite a nice touch. If I cared at all, I would have slunk down in my seat in a pool of guilt and self-pity.

"At which point…?" Professor Snape prompted.

"At which point," I took up the telling for this crucial part, "She went for her wand. I don't know any spells, so I didn't go for mine, but, for all I knew, she could have turned me into a molten puddle of goo."

"So you decided to physically disarm her?" His eyes burned into mine. I had the odd feeling that the spoken words were only a fraction of our communication.

"Yes, Professor."

"Is this what happened, Miss Selwyn?"

I had to give her points. Her face had the most convincing expression of damaged innocence that I'd seen in a while. 

"Absolutely not, Professor. Her attack was completely unprovoked. She announced that she was going to 'take me' then charged."

Professor Snape did the burning-eye thing to Chassity. I didn't think that I'd ever seen someone who could be so intimidating just by his presence in a room. I resolved to study his mannerisms—if I could be as intimidating as he, perhaps I would not have to get violent for the rest of my Hogwarts tenure.

"I regret to say this," Professor Snape pronounced finally. "But, Miss Kolodziejczak, ten points from Slytherin for fighting. If you are to be a member of my House, you must not settle your problems in such a _Gryffindor_ manner. Miss Selwyn, fifteen points from Slytherin for lying to a teacher. And both of you have a week's worth of detentions with me. At the week of my choosing. Dismissed. If you cannot find your way back to the common room, it is not my problem."

Chassity immediately ran from the room. Probably hurrying back to the common room to spread whatever twisted version of the story she had concocted. I stayed in my seat. 

"You're going to pick the week when we have double Potions and double Trasfiguration—" I'd heard a couple of sixth-years talking about how glad they were to finally be able to drop those classes, their workload would be ten times lighter "—and an absolute mountain of homework, and have our detentions then," I said matter-of-factly.

One of his dark eyebrows rose. "Very good, Miss Kolodziejczak. But, may I ask, what are you still doing here?"

I shrugged. "You wanted me to become more Slytherin-y. I figured talking to you was the best way to do it, since I don't think Salazar is available for comment."

He actually laughed at that one. "My advice, then, Miss Kolodziejczak, would be to keep your mouth closed for the next seven years. That accent will get you in trouble. How were you sorted into Slytherin, anyway? Was one of your parents in my House?"

"No. My father went to Salem Academy in America, and my mother was a Muggle. The hat said I could go anywhere I chose, and asked if I was up for a challenge. I said yes."

"Very well. Five points to Slytherin for accepting the challenge. Five more points for seeing what I would do with your detentions. You may begin yours this week. You should not have too much homework the first week of classes."

I could do math. It did not slip by me that he had just redeemed all the points he had taken away for slapping Chassity. "Thank you, Professor."

"One more thing, Miss Kolodziecjzak. No more fisticuffs. If you must settle 'philisophical differences,' use a wand. And don't get caught. I shall not be so lenient in the future."

"Yes, Professor."

"Take the first right, second left, and the common room will be on the right."

"Thank you very much, Professor. Good night."

* * *

April 19, 2016

I doubt Professor Snape—_Severus_, I mean. This teaching gig is so much fun! I doubt Severus even remembered that incident, but I did. I think that was the beginning of the schoolgirl crush I had on him during my time at Hogwarts. 

I believe I had the pleasure of being taught by Severus in the prime of his adult life. Voldemort was gone, he had been gone for years, and people had finally relaxed. And Potter hadn't showed up yet. 

I can still remember coming back for the first Potions lesson of my fourth year. Gryffindor and Slytherin firsties filed out of the classroom as we went in. Severus looked livid. This was the beginning of his downfall, his first Potions lesson with Potter. He was constantly on edge for all of my fourth, fifth, and sixth years. By my seventh year, 'on edge' describes Severus' stress level as well as 'breeze' describes a hurricane. I only found out later that this was because Voldemort had returned, but he did not make NEWT Potions fun for us. After the first couple of weeks, people started dropping from that class like flies. I had thought for a while that it might end up being just him and me, but Cedric Diggory—who appeared to be immune to negative energy—a couple of Ravenclaws, three stubborn Gryffindors—who wanted to be Aurors—and me ended up hanging on.

After I graduated, my parents insisted that I come back to America to do my apprenticeship. They didn't want me anywhere near Britain with Voldemort back. This proved to be wise, as families like Chassity's were becoming undisputed rulers of wizarding Britain. Severus was probably stretched thin by this point. Double agent, and all. And then, he was killed—rather painfully, I might add—by Voldemort's snake.

I wasn't just really upset to hear about his death. I was pretty much devastated. This was not a pretty time in my life. I retreated to my childhood room in my parents' house, soundproofed the walls, and turned up the radio. Not any of that 'Wizarding Wireless' crap. The Muggle radio. The _real_ radio. For nearly a year, I barely ate, barely slept, drowned in a sea of rock music, and tried not to think. Even so, certain songs can still bring tears to my eyes. "Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee, for example. 

Okay, now I'm thinking about it. I have to stop thinking!

I'm going to move into Severus' old quarters, and his old office. Minerva told me that someone had spread a rumor that they were haunted, and the apprentices refused to stay there. They've been untouched—except by house-elves—for nearly twenty years.

I elbow open the door to Severus'—now my—chambers, and gasp. Books! Everywhere! Severus' room could be a branch library! I was in heaven.

Then I saw the portrait hanging over the fireplace. Severus.

I knew that he had a portrait hanging in the Headmaster's office, but I didn't know someone had put another one down here. "Hello, Professor!" I say cheerfully, trying to cover my surprise.

"Miss Kolodziejczak. What are you doing here?" His voice is exactly as I remember it. Black velvet. Mmm. Now I remember why I had a schoolgirl crush on this man.

For answer, I flop down on the luxurious black leather couch that sits in front of the fire. "Potions Mistress Leigh Kolodziejczak, at your service!"

"What is this world coming to?" the portrait muttered blackly.

* * *

HBIC-Head Bitch in Charge

A/N: I know, I shouldn't be starting a new project when I have so much unfinished, but I couldn't resist. I actually _dreamed _about this fanfiction. It might end up just being a one-shot, depending on how complicated my life is over the next…while, but, either way, I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
